I try, you know. I help people, give to charities (got a text today that a hurricane flood donation we made to the Vermont Food Bank provided 60 meals) and dispense tons of free legal advice. I don't speed (enough to get caught), cut people off in traffic (hardly ever) or drive while intoxicated (typing, on the other hand, dPQPIQHDPWH-9;). The Commandments are safe with me; well, except for that rolling on fucking Shabbos one. (And the profanity one, obviously.) All in all, I can't complain.
Except when I do. Here goes with three stories from this week in which I tried to do the right thing and got a fistful of wrong for it. One was quickly and easily resolved; the others, well, are still pending. I'll cut all but the last one, which is probably the most radical, Dude.
( Story the First: Team Edward sucks, only not my blood )
( Story the Second: Harry Potter and the Deathly Formats )
And then there's Story the Third, from just the past day. I'll keep it short but uncut, because it does represent a fairly giant leap for me. The cut title, had there been one, would have been "The turkey is hitting the pavement like a sack of wet cement"- a homage to the annual Thanksgiving Youtube I post every November and always find hit by a takedown by some dumbass studio (probably because they want you to buy a Blu-Ray of it:P):
Last night, I had my first weight training class in almost two weeks. And all of the other peeps there were talking about their big activity for next week- the Turkey Trot. It's the oldest continually-run road race in the country, benefits the local YMCA, accommodates all levels of fitness from walk to Kenyan Competitive, and it's only five miles. Now that's close to five miles longer than I've run outdoors at any time in my adult life, but hellz, I do six miles on the elliptical almost every day at a fairly brisk pace. This could be the start of something! Fun! Out of my earphones-and-book-rack cardio shell! Let's do it!
I go online to check the fees and such- and they hit their registration limit that very day. No can do.
I messaged the other class members, and apparently you can just show up, and hang with the pack, but you can't take the shuttle with everyone else to the starting line, you can't get into the afterparty, and worst of all, you don't get the stinkin' t-shirt. If Ima gonna do this, dammit, I want to be supporting the actual charity, and I want one of those dumbass things with the 30 sponsors on the back to sweat on.
Wait- sponsors. I KNOW one of them. Local guy, met through a longago elementary school friend of mine I re-met on Facebook last year, and he just, today, asked me to Like his company, which is one of them. I contact him to see if he can cut a shameless back-room deal to get me in legally- and as of a few minutes ago, I got a definite maybe from him. One of his own employees also wants to do it at the last minute, so we'll hang together, one way or the other. If that doesn't work, I may just play the oops-you-musta-lost-my-registration card at the packet pickup and see if I can baffle them with my bullshit.
I now know exactly what this tendency is called, thanks to Book Number 48 of the year that![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
firynze was good enough to send me: "Reactant Bias, the unreasonable desire to do what others forbid you from doing." I've had that neurosis for most of my life, and this time it's likely going to be manifesting itself in worn soles and shin splints, but hey. Eleanor's working on Thanksgiving and maybe, for a change, I'll do something right when trying to do the right thing.
Except when I do. Here goes with three stories from this week in which I tried to do the right thing and got a fistful of wrong for it. One was quickly and easily resolved; the others, well, are still pending. I'll cut all but the last one, which is probably the most radical, Dude.
( Story the First: Team Edward sucks, only not my blood )
( Story the Second: Harry Potter and the Deathly Formats )
And then there's Story the Third, from just the past day. I'll keep it short but uncut, because it does represent a fairly giant leap for me. The cut title, had there been one, would have been "The turkey is hitting the pavement like a sack of wet cement"- a homage to the annual Thanksgiving Youtube I post every November and always find hit by a takedown by some dumbass studio (probably because they want you to buy a Blu-Ray of it:P):
Last night, I had my first weight training class in almost two weeks. And all of the other peeps there were talking about their big activity for next week- the Turkey Trot. It's the oldest continually-run road race in the country, benefits the local YMCA, accommodates all levels of fitness from walk to Kenyan Competitive, and it's only five miles. Now that's close to five miles longer than I've run outdoors at any time in my adult life, but hellz, I do six miles on the elliptical almost every day at a fairly brisk pace. This could be the start of something! Fun! Out of my earphones-and-book-rack cardio shell! Let's do it!
I go online to check the fees and such- and they hit their registration limit that very day. No can do.
I messaged the other class members, and apparently you can just show up, and hang with the pack, but you can't take the shuttle with everyone else to the starting line, you can't get into the afterparty, and worst of all, you don't get the stinkin' t-shirt. If Ima gonna do this, dammit, I want to be supporting the actual charity, and I want one of those dumbass things with the 30 sponsors on the back to sweat on.
Wait- sponsors. I KNOW one of them. Local guy, met through a longago elementary school friend of mine I re-met on Facebook last year, and he just, today, asked me to Like his company, which is one of them. I contact him to see if he can cut a shameless back-room deal to get me in legally- and as of a few minutes ago, I got a definite maybe from him. One of his own employees also wants to do it at the last minute, so we'll hang together, one way or the other. If that doesn't work, I may just play the oops-you-musta-lost-my-registration card at the packet pickup and see if I can baffle them with my bullshit.
I now know exactly what this tendency is called, thanks to Book Number 48 of the year that
firynze was good enough to send me: "Reactant Bias, the unreasonable desire to do what others forbid you from doing." I've had that neurosis for most of my life, and this time it's likely going to be manifesting itself in worn soles and shin splints, but hey. Eleanor's working on Thanksgiving and maybe, for a change, I'll do something right when trying to do the right thing.